Graced

Chapter 1

Exchange

The phone rang. Since Andy was closest to it, he answered.

“Wonderland Amusement. Yeah. Hold on. Rhyne, it’s for you.”

Rhyne closed the cash drawer and took the receiver from his co-worker. “This is Rhyne.”

“Hey, dude. I can’t make it over to pick up the bags tonight before Norris gets off work. Can you?”

“What about Welsh?”

“I haven’t called him,” Nash admitted. “I called you ‘cause I knew you closed at ten.”

Rhyne glanced at the wall clock. 9:47. Technically, they had thirteen minutes to go.

“Yeah, I guess I can.”

“Thanks. The empties are sitting in the container by the door.”

“How many units am I picking up?”

“Norris said he had nine ready to go. I’ll call him back and let him know you’ll be there about ten-thirtyish or so.”

“Awright. And his shifts ends at ten?”

“Yeah. Gotta go.” Nash hung up before Rhyne could respond, which was well and good.

After all the years they’d been roommates, their conversations were mostly brief and to the point now.

No wasted words. Just an economy of language.

Any further explanations or comments could wait until later this evening once everyone was home.

Shortly before ten, Rhyne and Andy chased the last of the teenagers out of the building and locked the front doors.

“Hey, listen. I gotta run an errand for my brother and the store closes at eleven. Mind if I leave early tonight? I’ll take the full shift including clean-up tomorrow for you,” he asked the other man.

Andy gave him a wave. “I got it. Go. Do what ‘cha gotta do.”

Giving the man a lopsided grin, Rhyne threw in a, “Thanks,” and hurried for the back stockroom where he’d parked his bike and let himself out the rear door.

It was a ten-minute straight shot to the tiny three-bedroom house where he and the others lived. It wasn’t much, but it had been home for quite a while. Maybe too long. Rhyne made a mental note to himself to bring up the issue with the guys tonight.

When he reached the house, he used the garage door opener to let himself in.

A door led from there into the kitchen where the insulated backpack was propped against the wall.

Grabbing it, Rhyne opened it and counted out nine empties, dropping the rest on the floor.

That done, he closed it, drew it over his arms, and buckled it around his waist before leaving.

The summer was over. Fall promised to descend with its cooler temperatures any moment now. The best time to bike was in the evenings, when he could go without the sunglasses and just take in the smells, the sights, and the sounds of the changing season.

From the house to the hospital was a good twenty-minute trip, give or take having to wait at a red light.

Fortunately, traffic was light this time of night.

Rhyne leaned into the pedaling. The exercise felt good after having to be on his feet all afternoon.

He hit just one red light, and used that time to slip a bill out of his wallet, fold it, and stuff it into his left shirt pocket.

“Gotta pay the delivery fee.”

Norris was waiting at the service entrance when he rolled off the street and up the ramp. No deliveries were made this late at night, which made it safe to do the exchange.

Coming to a stop just beyond the range of the security camera, Rhyne quickly undid the backpack, swung it around in front of him, and unzipped it.

He withdrew the plastic sack containing the used blood bags and handed it over to the lab tech.

Likewise, the young man handed him another sack containing more blood bags, except these still contained trace amounts of the fluid they’d held.

Taking the sack, Rhyne reached into his shirt pocket, extracted the folded single bill, and slipped it to the man who quickly shoved it into his pants pocket.

“Thanks a bunch,” Rhyne remarked as he placed the fresh sack into the backpack and zipped it shut.

“No. Thank you.” Norris gave the guy a steady look.

Knowing what the man was doing, Rhyne returned the stare.

As he suspected, the lab tech studied Rhyne’s eyes.

After a couple of seconds, Norris dropped his gaze.

“I gotta go.” The man caved, too afraid to comment, but Rhyne knew what the guy was thinking or wanted to ask.

One day, he’ll get up the courage to ask what we do with the leftover blood in these used bags.

“Thanks for waiting,” Rhyne said as he buckled the backpack back on. “Until next time?”

“Yeah. I’ll let you know.”

A nod of understanding, and Rhyne took off.

The difference between the almost pristine clean bags he’d returned and the used ones still containing tiny amounts of human blood was miniscule. Yet he could tell the difference in weight. Rhyne smiled to himself, wondering what types they’d discover this go-round.

Nine bags means we each get three. Pretty solid.

With the important stuff taken care of, he took it easy on his return trip to the house.

A cop car passed him by, but Rhyne knew he was safe from being pulled over as long as he had the required lights on his bike and he stuck to the sidewalks.

Plus the backpack bore reflective tape to make it easier for vehicles to spot him.

The light was red when he reached the Ruidoso Avenue intersection.

While he waited for the crossing sign to give him the green okay, he glanced down both sides of the street.

This area of town mostly consisted of a few bars and a bail bondsman’s office.

There was also a fast food joint that was open twenty-four hours and did a booming business after the bars closed.

A couple of blocks over sat a row of apartment complexes.

His instincts went on high alert. Someone was coming up behind him and taking care not to make a sound. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Rhyne’s senses were hundreds of times more attuned than any human’s.

Acting casual, he turned his head to glance to the rear when a gun appeared in his line of vision. It was a revolver. Most likely stolen. By now he could smell the guy’s rancid sweat and unwashed clothes. As well as the stench coming out of the man’s mouth when he threatened, “Gimme that backpack.”

“There’s nothing in it that would interest you,” Rhyne calmly responded but didn’t move or make any attempt to comply. He didn’t sense anyone else in the vicinity, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t be watching from a car or inside a building where Rhyne couldn’t get wind of him.

The gun moved closer to where it almost touched the side of Rhyne’s head. “I said gimme the muthafuckin’ backpack!”

“Or you’ll what?” Rhyne challenged him. He tensed, muscles ready for what he hoped the idiot would do next.

The guy did not disappoint.

The man did exactly what Rhyne expected him to do and thumbed back the hammer. In that split-second, his attacker’s focus was on cocking the gun. That was all the time Rhyne needed.

As he ducked, he swept his right hand backwards and grabbed the gun to shove it away. At the same time, he turned and seized the man by the throat.

And squeezed.

The man’s eyes bulged out as he swung at Rhyne. His blows struck Rhyne in the face and cheeks, but were ineffective as Rhyne tightened his grip.

Placing both feet on the sidewalk, Rhyne stood and slowly lifted the man off the pavement.

The guy continued to struggle. He no longer tried to strike Rhyne.

Instead, he strained against the fingers slowly cutting the air from his windpipe.

Fingers that dug into his skin, drawing blood, until thin rivulets ran down the front of his asinine Fuji Fire t-shirt.

The man tried to speak but Rhyne had a firm grip on his vocal cords.

The idiot tried to fire his gun but Rhyne twisted the man’s hand in a way where he couldn’t find the trigger.

One hard jerk, and the attacker’s hand separated from the arm at the wrist. The guy tried to scream in pain but only succeeded in making a faint gurgling sound.

Rhyne finally set the man back on his feet and released his hold.

The guy dropped to the ground, clutching his throat with his good hand, and spit up more blood.

Reaching down, Rhyne eased the gun from the man’s nerveless fingers.

He emptied the cylinder, tossed the bullets as far away as possible, then threw the weapon onto the roof of the nearby bar.

Bending over, he gave the guy a dark glare. The man stared at him in growing horror as he got a good look at Rhyne’s eyes in the near darkness.

“That’s right, asshole. Don’t ever try something like that again. Or next time you might end up having that throat ripped out before you can draw another breath.”

What the guy did next was exactly what Rhyne anticipated. He got to his feet and ran like hell.

Noticing the light was green, Rhyne got off the bike to walk it across the street as he casually licked the congealing blood from his fingers.

The ichor was revolting, tainted with alcohol and meth, but he had no choice.

He had no way of wiping it off his hand without creating a suspicious-looking bloodstain that might attract the attention of law enforcement.

Fortunately, drugs and alcohol had no effect on him.

By the time he reached the other side, his hand was clean enough for him to grip the handlebars.

He never looked behind him as he pedaled the rest of the way home.